


Tale#1: The Start of Silence

by Rexotec



Series: SCP Foundation Files - Overwatch [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game), SCP Foundation
Genre: Alternate Universe - SCP Foundation, Claustrophobia, Interviews, Memories, Resisting the Urge to Kill, Short, Solitary Confinement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 09:24:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14668122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rexotec/pseuds/Rexotec
Summary: SCP-076 has not breached containment since Incident-073076-A, and starts to realise he may now never gain enough trust from the Foundation to be let go.





	Tale#1: The Start of Silence

The demon could hear the grid outside. The humming pulsed in and out; 50,000 volts of it. He could likely make it through the door before the circuit looped again.

After that, they would lock down his ‘containment’ zone, and send in that big horned dog to put him down. But not before he killed a dozen to a hundred puny _weaklings_ in his path.

But what would Genji think?

_My brother is dead._

He didn’t _care_ what that cyborg _thought._ He could _crush_ Genji in an instant if let near him. He could smash his way out of the chamber right _now_ and _finish_ this, _once and for all._ The thought had him nearly get off the cot he was lying on.

But he knew he would be stopped. Over twenty times, he had tried to break out of his cell, and they’d managed to stop him. _Him._ The _perfect_ warrior _._

He’d been _designed_ for this. Born, bred and _built_ for it. _No_ one could match his sheer _prowess_.

So how then, was he still here? In this cell?

The question buzzed in his head, irritating him. The urge to _prove_ how capable he was had begun to fade, along with the bloodlust, and rage, as he remembered a very simple fact.

The Foundation _knew_ how capable he was, and they would put measures in place to make sure he would stay ‘contained’.

He worked this out months ago, and all it had done was make him want to _test_ those limits. Breach after breach after breach. And he was _still_ here.

And then… _that_ incident…

He didn’t remember most of it, but when he awoke they’d told him it had been months. _Months._

Just thinking about it made him feel weak.

_Weak. Just like the rest of them._

He was _not_ weak… he was **_not_** weak…

He was very close to smashing that reinforced bulkhead right off its hinges. Once again, the looping train of thought in his head stopped him, and he sank lower into the cot.

_Weakling…_

Just as he relaxed, the thrum of the circuit cut out. Someone had turned off the defence system. He felt the urge once again to escape… to slaughter. They’d lifted his mandatory termination a few days ago, and he would _not_ allow them to reinstate it.

He got up from the cot, just as the door opened. Twelve guns were pointed at him, and he noted in distaste the number ‘14’ etched onto their uniforms. _Wretches._

“Dr. Mahant would like an interview, Seventy-Six”, one of them said. “You’ll need these”.

He noticed the handcuffs first, but a growl erupted from his throat when he saw the collar.

“Easy boy”, the soldier said, chuckling. “You don’t get to leave without putting these on”.

The demon wanted to rip his throat out. Who was he calling _boy?_

But he knew that fighting his way out would not work. It disgusted him, beyond words, but it was true. And in the past few months, just because he hadn’t slaughtered the staff, they were getting _bold_ enough to talk to him. Perhaps diplomacy was the way out with the Foundation…

But he wasn’t _designed_ for diplomacy.

Still, the guards were waiting for a response.

Sickened, he eventually obliged, allowing the man to call forth two men in orange jumpsuits. They fixed the steel cuffs to his arms, and carefully clasped the collar onto his neck.

The soldier fiddled with a device in his hand, smiling before holding it up for him to see.

“You do anything naughty, that collar blows your head clean off”.

The demon, again, resisted the urge to kill him right here and now, even if it meant his own death.

He was led out of the cell through the narrow chamber, into the main Containment Facility. Staff and men carrying boxes passed him by, some operating vehicles. Almost everyone turned and stared at him as they exited the ‘Killing Corridor’. Promptly ignoring them, he followed the squadron into one of the smaller, secure chambers to one side. There was a concrete table running straight through the middle of the room, and they sat him down on one side.

He waited impatiently, realising he was alone in the room, fidgeting with the metal collar they’d fastened around his neck.

“That will detonate if you fidget with it too much”.

The demon didn’t move, but his eyes flicked up to meet the newcomer. He had short, black hair, and rather bronzed skin, wearing a suit with the tag ‘Mahant’.

The man slowly took a seat on the other side of the table, two guards accompanying him, one with the detonation device.

“My name is Doctor Mahant, Seven-Six, and I try to work very closely with all SCPs I am assigned to”.

He set a tape recorder on the table, something the demon thought a little primitive.

“Before we begin, all I want to do is ask you a few questions. But yes, your mandatory termination has been lifted indefinitely”.

He flipped through a file he was holding before pressing a button on the recorder.

“Interview Zero-Seven-Six-Two, Interviewer Doctor James Mahant, Interviewee SCP Zero-Seven-Six”.

He looked up at the demon, meeting his gaze.

“Is there a reason for your sudden change of behaviour?”

The demon said nothing his look conveying his hatred. Mahant continued.

“Did you want to talk to Foundation personnel about something?”

The demon’s face contorted into a snarl, but he remained silent. There was _nothing_ to talk about with this man.

The doctor held his gaze for a few moments, studying him. Making him writhe underneath his skin. Making him wish he could tear him and the guards behind him to pieces.

“…Is your change in behaviour somehow linked with-”

_NO._

The demon swore, obscenities leaving his mouth in a language he knew the man would not understand. How _dare_ he even _begin_ to mention his brother. They had no _right_ to do so. Mahant remained infuriatingly calm, waiting for him to calm down before moving on.

“The Foundation would like to know why you’ve been so cooperative with us recently”.

He looked the doctor straight in the eye before replying.

“The Foundation can _fuck_ off! You’re right. It _is_ my fault. And I do _not_ regret it in the _slightest”._ He moved on to describe the terrible things he did. Things English didn’t have the words for. Anything to break that smug look on Mahant’s face.

Instead, there was a long pause.

“The Foundation is not blaming you for anything at the moment, Seventy-Six”.

The demon froze.

“…What?”

“This interview was, like I said before, to know why you have not attempted to breach containment in 9 weeks. It is listed as unusual behaviour”.

“…You would not understand”.

“After translations, SCP-073 was under the belief…”

He wasn’t listening. The words trailed off as the meeting with the cyborg came back.

_“I came because there is still hope for you, even now”._

_“DO NOT TALK TO ME OF HOPE! YOU ARE NOT MY BROTHER. YOU WILL NEVER AMOUNT TO ANYTHING!”_

_“They remade you, didn’t they? Into this…”_

_“I DO NOT WANT YOUR **PITY!”**_

The demon was brought back to the present as Mahant began to say ‘however’.

“He no longer thinks we can help you”.

He snorted in contempt.

“What he thinks does _not_ concern me. I will _mutilate and destroy_ him until he-”

“I understand”, Mahant cut across, provoking a flare of infuriation. “You should know he submitted a formal request to have you terminated”.

 _Did_ he now?

“Insolent little shit”, the demon muttered. “He can burn in _hell_ after everything he has-”

“Hanzo, calm down”.

The demon froze. His gaze bored through the doctor as a million memories rushed back. He didn’t notice what he was doing, succumbing to a tidal wave of the thoughts and feelings of a small boy he recognised as his own.

_CLICK._

He snapped back to the present, finding his hand around Mahant’s throat, the cuffs broken and discarded. He’d leapt across the table. The guard to his left was about to activate the device around his neck.

His hand slowly released itself from the hold it had, and he noted with some satisfaction that the cool appearance of Dr. Mahant had been replaced by one of terror.

But he knew he couldn’t fight the Foundation. Not if he wanted to get out of that cell. Everything inside him, every fibre and cell, screamed against his decision, but he had already made his choice.

He looked at the three men, realising he had control of the room.

 _“…Where am I?”_ He muttered, barely audible but close enough for Mahant to hear.

“You are in Containment Area-14-B, which was specifically designed to prevent you from instigating a successful breach. It is now used to contain several other hazardous SCPs”.

_“WHERE am I?”_

“…In a research and containment facility, three-hundred metres below the surface”.

_A thousand feet._

The demon’s jaw tightened, and he stood up straight, taking a step back. The walls and ceiling of the interrogation room seemed to close in on him, making it hard to breathe.

He motioned to the two guards to take him back, and they requested another squadron before putting on firmer handcuffs. He could put up with it until they took him back to his cell.

Finally making their way through the killing corridor, they shoved him back into the cell, not bothering to take the cuffs off. He broke them absentmindedly, throwing them in a corner.

Finally, he was alone. Lying on the cot looking at the ceiling. The ceiling with a thousand feet of dirt and rock and metal between him and the sky.

It occurred to him that he might not get anything from the Foundation for good behaviour. That it might already be too late. After all, he had slaughtered thousands of personnel, and that was only since his imprisonment. If the _Foundation_ had any sense, they would lock him here and never let him see the light of day again.

Which, Hanzo realised, was exactly what they were doing.

_How long have I been down here?_

It had to have been months, almost a year now. _At least._ He wasn’t sure. The lights had a day and night mode but he’d been killed too many times to keep track.

So this was going to be what he would have to live with for a very long time… to be treated like a dog and expected to obey the humans’ orders, for the faint hope that he would, one day, be able to see the sky, the sun and the stars.


End file.
